Inferior
by JennyMoriarty
Summary: JONAS. A year ago I would’ve thought myself to be able to describe them to a tee. I could have told you everything about them. But on getting to know them I realised I was wrong.


_I wanted to post _something_ because I feel like an utter failure. I'm absolutely smothered from head to toe in school work and everything I write only gets half way there before I let my eyelids droop and the inspiration to relinquish from my mind. So, I'm sorry. And I know this doesn't even begin to make up for it. It's not proof read, there's no thought gone into it and (to make me even more of a failure) I'm writing this as I go. I have no line of thought. I'm hoping that I won't have to work too hard during the upcoming Mid-Term (two weeks) and that I'll be able to get back to posting.  
Thanks again oh wonderful people of Fanfiction. You're the light that makes my darkness disappear._

_Oh yeah, like _I'd_ be lucky enough to own JONAS. Please. If I did Joe and Stella would be far less annoying, Nick would be as gay as Kurt from Glee and Kevin and Macy would be THAT CLOSE to being together but THAT FAR AWAY to leave you wanting. Don't give me that look. You know Nick would make an ADORABLE Kurt-like character._

PS, forget my retarded writing skills. I'm trying something new.

**_Inferior._**

Sitting around our usual Lunch table I wanted to growl out of the sheer frustration of being uninspired. Usually it doesn't take much to get me thinking but today something felt off. I felt like I was bird who'd flown around the world several times as was now too tired to even _look_ at the sky. I glanced up at the people I deemed my friends. Three of them were talkative and bubbly and one was slightly quieter, than the others, choosing instead to listen intently to their words as though they were speaking the messages of Angles. They choose to watch them with their eyes of the deepest chocolate brown, while running a hand through curly hair of the same calibre. A little breathtaking to say the least.

I felt like a Knight at a round table for a moment. We all had different duties and different qualities that we brought to the group, compulsory in a Team.

Sitting directly on my right was Joe Lucas. He was that guy that other guys wish they could be. He was funny, witty and occasionally very clever. Joe was a good guy. But one could tell, just by looking at him, that there was something missing from his life. He had brains, charismatic character and looks. But what he didn't have was the one thing he longed for the most. And that was the girl who's hair he was currently playing with.

Stella Malone. Although I consider her to be my best friend, I know that is not a mutual feeling. Yes, she will call me her best friend to my face. She calls _all_ of us her best friend, but every one of us know that there is a special place in her heart that's reserved only for the boy who's eyes she's gazing into. Of course she's completely unaware of the boy on her other side who is currently making Bunny Ears over her head as she's turned around.

Kevin Lucas. Kevin is the Sweetheart and anyone that's ever met him would be compelled to agree. Kevin would never intentionally do anything to hurt anyone or anything. He's the type of person that gets upset when flowers wilt and excited when he sees a rainbow. He laughs and jokes around even when he doesn't fully understand the meaning of the situation. He lightens everyone's heart. He makes people smile on even their darkest days. And yet, he never thinks anything of it. He never expects anything in return.

And then there's the person sitting to my left.

And I don't really know how to describe them.

A year ago I would've thought myself to be able to describe them to a tee. I could have told you everything about them. But on getting to know them I realised I was wrong.

They prefer to listen that to talk. They use this as their shield. So that they never have to talk about themselves. They don't want to come across as pretentious of their achievements.

They're artistic. They write words and create these sentences that would make the likes of Pablo Neruda look amateur.

They're competitive. I've never seen someone so hard-working in all my life. I know what wanting to be the best is like. I practice it everyday myself. But they're better than me. I feel inferior around them.

Yes. I feel inferior. As I think about myself and my dreams I wonder if my thoughts were merely just dust blowing in the wind and that I owe my every last achievement to pure luck and nothing more.

I, _Nick Lucas_, feel _inferior_ to her. _Macy Misa._ She is strong willed yet kind. She is tough yet sweet. And everything I wish I could be.

She's a mystery to me.

She talks to me, she talks to all of us. But never about herself. When she speaks it's only to compliment our achievements, never to tell of her own.

And as I hopelessly sigh at the blank page in front of me she tells me never to give up.

That whatever is inspirational is worth waiting for.

And she's right.

_I will wait._

_

* * *

I don't even have the energy to read over it. Apologies for misspelled words and the likes.  
I must sleep now. I stayed up till three am last night working on a collab with Poet On The Run, even though I had to get up at six for school.  
Worth it.  
:)_


End file.
